


Collected L4D2 Drabble and Art

by Ellislash (MintSharpie)



Category: Left 4 Dead 2
Genre: (you think i'm kidding about the crack?), After!verse, Angst, Apocalypse, Before!verse, Drabble, Fluff, Gen, Kellis - Freeform, M/M, Nellis, Shakespeare, Suicide, crackfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 11:54:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3895387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MintSharpie/pseuds/Ellislash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Exactly what it says on the tin. Assorted drabble and associated art for L4D2, mostly a bit shippy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Collected L4D2 Drabble and Art

**Author's Note:**

> Full-size images, and much more, are available at http://ellislash.deviantart.com

**ANTIHERO**

_** ** _

"And that's why you don't talk to strangers, kid," he said wryly, and took a long drag.  
  
The boy he'd saved took a shuddering breath, pausing his terrified sobs to lift his face from Nick's suit.  
  
"Y... yer a stranger, technic'ly," he choked out, wet blue eyes crinkling with the attempt at humor.  
  
Nick tilted his head back against the wall, smiled, and released his smoke to the washed-out stars of the city.  
  
"Sure - but the difference is, I like you."

* * *

 

**+5 Sword of Sexy**

Nick watched him dance with the lady in red, bright steel flashing in the sun. Chainsaws were great, and grenade launchers were better... but there was nothing so beautiful as Ellis with a sword, afterimages of blood flowing through the air. Something about that gently curving blade had unlocked a deadly elegance, a long-dormant grace now released to wreak havoc on their enemies.  
  
Nick watched him dance with fierce joy, a burning admiration he knew he could never let show.

* * *

 

**Masochist**

No matter how many times he landed in the hospital, Keith never seemed to learn.  
  
Burns, bruises, breaks, boils, botulism – he'd been treated for every affliction in the book, most of them more than once. It was a damn miracle that he was even alive, never mind still in possession of all his appendages, and his friends made sure he didn't forget that. Every time his blood splattered out onto the asphalt they told him he was crazy, or stupid, or a jackass – and he agreed with them. He knew exactly what he was doing and thought it was just as absurdly insane as everyone else did. Whenever he fell from a roof, or sliced open an artery, or singed his eyebrows off, he instantly regretted it. The pain was often humiliating, always excruciating, and being stuck in a sterile bed for a week afterward was boring as hell.  
  
But he couldn't stop.  
  
It wasn't the adrenaline rush that kept bringing him back to the brink. It wasn't the attention or the time off from school. It wasn't even the original goals of the stunts – the crocodiles, bumper cars, or deep-fried turkey – that made him try to do the impossible again and again and again.  
  
It was Ellis.  
  
Always there, always laughing, always the first to staunch the bleeding. Injury was the only way Keith knew to get his best friend to touch him like that – tenderly caring for his wounds with gentle fingers, softly caressing raw skin to spread the antibiotic, strong hands supporting his broken body back to the truck. Those moments always made the pain worth it. More than worth it. He'd gladly risk his own death, over and over, just to feel Ellis' devotion. Just to feel alive.  
  
So he'd taunt a mother bear, or play with acid, and tenaciously court disaster that would leave him crippled with agony.  
  
But what hurt more than anything – what really tore into his soul, and killed him from the inside out – was the fact that he could never tell the truth.

* * *

 

**I'll Follow You Into The Dark**

He was unconscious by the time Nick got the hunter off him. By the time the door closed behind them, he was gone.  
  
He laid the shredded body on a mattress, numb to the squeals and growls from outside. The hand he held was still warm, the blood on his suit still fresh. He could almost pretend that those beautiful eyes would open, any second now, and then he'd finally be able to say the words that ached longingly in his throat.  
  
But the body did not stir.  
  
Time passed immeasurably and he remained, gently cradling fingers that slowly grew rigid and cold. Nothing changed... but eventually it just felt right to draw the gun, and place the cool muzzle against the side of his head.  
  
"I'll be there soon, kid," he whispered, smiling through burning-hot tears.  
  
One more bloodstain spattered meaninglessly against the wall.

* * *

 

**Surprise**

** **

 

When his lover showed up at closing time in a brand-spankin'-new 'Vette Ellis' jaw hit the ground. That the ex-con liked expensive cars was no secret, but until this point he'd stuck to Mercedes and Lexus and BMW - never anything this expensive. Oh, and he hated coming to the garage. "Too dirty," he said, "and I want to stay as far away from that assclown Keith as I can get."  
  
Yet here he was, slipping gracefully from the cobalt-blue machine onto the grease-stained floor of the shop, smiling that infuriating little smile and looking smug as the cat that ate the canary. Nick's green eyes sparkled in the late afternoon sun as Ellis approached him, wiping oil from his hands.  
  
"How th'... where... goddamn, darlin', these're some mighty fine wheels ya got here! Yer LFA lose its shine already?"  
  
"Nope," Nick answered, perching on the passenger's side of the hood as the mechanic circled the car. "I love that thing."  
  
"Then... Why this?" asked Ellis, noting every little detail of the fully-loaded vehicle and growing more and more impressed.  
  
"She matches your eyes," Nick said softly, and gently tossed his young partner the keys.

* * *

 

**Dangerous Liaison**

"What,  _now_? Seriously? We're in the middle of the fuckin' city, we been fightin' zombies all day an' I swear t'god I hear a witch somewhere close..."  
  
"Ellis, shut up and get your ass over here. It's my turn to do something stupid."  
  
"But Coach an' Ro are, like, thirty feet away an' they're gonna...  _ooh_. Do that again."  
  
"We've got enough cover for this. And how many times have  _you_  dragged  _me_  off to a corner...? Mm, see, you're too hard to be worried about getting caught."  
  
"Oh, god, I hate you... No, no I don't, keep doin' that..."  
  
"Nuh-uh. Turn over."  
  
"Wh... what? We ain't got time for...!"  
  
"That's why they call it ' _making_  time,' kiddo."  
  
"Not now, what if somethin' shows up an' we need t'run- "  
  
"If something shows up we'll die happy. C'mere."  
  
"Nick,  _no_. Y'know I want ya, but – shit, I  _toldja_  I heard a witch!"  
  
"She's not heading this way, we're finmmmf…"  
  
"..."  
  
"Okay, she's wanderin' off. ...Heh. I guess kissin' works ta shut you up, too."

* * *

 

**Return to New Orleans**

_Barely five years After,_  Nick thought as the floats rolled by, bursting with music. He could only hear the screams.  _They've got color and life back in this city, but I can still see the bodies in the streets..._  
  
Ellis had no such dark thoughts, painted face grinning wide and eyes glossy with reflected light. The older man watched him with a bittersweet gaze, too lost in memories to care about the roar of noise and too in love to notice the bare-breasted women who kept trying to seduce him.  
  
The joyful mechanic suddenly leaped straight up to snatch a handful of beads from the air. He turned, laughing with exhilaration, to present them to his partner - but immediately grew concerned at the sight of Nick's face. It was a little sad and a little pained, but as Ellis drew close a tiny, sorrowful smile quirked at his lips.  
  
The cacophony was too loud for them to hear each other speak, but it didn't matter. Without breaking eye contact the young Georgian took his lover's hand and pressed the colorful beads into it, folding his fingers around the strands. Nick's emerald eyes went a bit misty and Ellis smiled, a wordless confirmation that the nightmare was over.  
  
_It's okay. We made it. We're here, t'gether, an' I ain't leavin' ya fer th' world._  
  
The survivors wrapped their arms around each other and held on tight, an island of tranquility amidst the whirlwind celebration that swirled and raged around them.

* * *

 

**Cooties**

Nick and Ellis were a constant source of both frustration and entertainment for Rochelle. In a lot of ways they were just like her sister's kids, Joey and Sam; the older one tried and failed to act like a grown-up while the younger one reliably drove him insane. The big difference, of course, was that these alleged "adults" were armed to the teeth and full of testosterone. That, and the whole zombie apocalypse situation, changed things.

Twice in the last three days, she'd had to stop Ellis from pouring bile jars down the back of Nick's suit. She assumed the attempts were revenge for Nick's constant verbal abuse, a habit she'd been unable to curb in the older man. The two of them bickered like brothers, nonstop, despite their mutual interest in survival. Rochelle had long since lost track of how many times she and Coach had reminded them to focus on getting to the next safe house alive. Though the sibling-rivalry behavior was often very amusing (the sight of Nick sticking his tongue out at Ellis still made her laugh), it could also become dangerous. Occasionally they'd come close to blows, requiring physical intervention, or sometimes one would refuse to give the other a helping hand during battle.

This morning was the last straw on Rochelle's back. Coach had had to grab Nick by the collar to keep him from extinguishing a cigarette butt on Ellis' neck. He wasn't even supposed to  _have_  cigarettes anymore, not since they'd discovered that the tobacco smoke attracted special infected. Rochelle confiscated the pack and threw it in the river, but didn't feel like searching the conman for his other hidden treasures. She knew Nick had the hots for her, and refused to encourage him.

She made Ellis do it instead.

"We don't have time for this shit," Coach warned. "If he gets himself dragged off by a smoker, that's his own problem." Rochelle smiled evilly.

"Let's have a little fun for once, Coach," she muttered slyly. "They've been like kids on a road trip for days, all 'I'm not touching you!' from the backseat. This way, they'll know I'm ready to turn the car around." She chuckled, watching them eye each other with distaste. "Look how uncomfortable they are!"

"Ellis, unless I am dying in the mud, you are  _not_  touching me," Nick snapped. The younger man stood with his arms crossed.

"Hell, I don't  _wanna_  and I ain't  _gonna_ , so don't get yer panties inna knot. You can goddamn well  _stay_ in the mud, for all I care! What kinda teammate tries ta  _burn_ -"

"Boys? Don't make me force you," Rochelle threatened, raising her AK. "You  _cause_  trouble, you  _get in_  trouble. Convince me there aren't any more cigarettes. Now." Her usually gentle voice was hard, but she had a wide grin on her face.

The men stared at her in disbelief. Ellis was speechless. Nick's eyes glittered angrily.

"You're  _enjoying_  this, aren't you? Want to see us get all touchy-feely?" he hissed. "Pervert." He backed off as the rifle swung to point at him. " _Je_ sus, all right, don't goddamn  _shoot_ me. Hey, Coach, are you just going to stand there? Help a brother out!"

Coach snorted derisively and took a step back. "I ain't gonna argue with an armed woman. What you got into is all your fault."

Rochelle smiled sweetly. "Go on, Ellis. You don't want him trying to burn you again, right?" Her voice was like poisoned honey.

The young mechanic looked desperately from Nick, glowering with his hands up, to Rochelle, smiling behind the barrel of her gun. He took a step towards the conman.

"Good choice," purred their tormentor.

"I don't gotta, like, strip search him or nothin', right?" Ellis asked nervously. Rochelle shook her head.

"I'm not  _that_  cruel."

"Girl, do you know what you're doing?" Coach whispered to her.

"I'm stopping their stupid little first-grade feud once and for all," she quietly replied. "Also, it's funny to watch. It's like they're afraid of each other's cooties."

"Ro, remind me never to get on your bad side."

Nick was fuming with such intensity that it was a wonder he didn't summon a whole platoon of specials. Ellis timidly peeked in the pockets of the white jacket, apologizing awkwardly, reluctant to touch the older man any more than he had to. He kept looking back at Rochelle, eyes pleading, as if to ask "can I be done now?" She heartlessly gestured for him to continue.

"Man, oh man, this don't feel right," Ellis moaned, delicately checking the pockets of Nick's pants. "Why'd you gotta take those smokes, Nick? Why you gotta be so much trouble?" Nick ignored him, instead boring holes in Rochelle's eyes with his vicious glare.

"Uh-uh, honey," Rochelle cackled when Ellis finished and backed off in relief. He froze and gave her his deer-in-the-headlights look again. "That jacket's got pockets inside, too."

"Come on now, you've had your fun. We gotta get movin'," prompted Coach. Rochelle raised a hand to stop him.

"Oh, no. They're not done squirming for me yet. Think real hard about how you two've been acting," she ordered, "and  _empty those_   _pockets_."  
Nick, who had moved to pick his weapon back up, flared angrily.

"Fucking insane," he growled. "You get off watching us play gay chicken? Fine!" He grabbed Ellis' outstretched hand, pulled the shocked young man close, and kissed him. Hard. Ellis emitted a muffled yelp but could not pull away from the conman's iron embrace. Coach and Rochelle stared as Nick dominated his prisoner's lips, heedless of the struggles, until finally he released the younger man and looked up with a cold, satisfied expression. Ellis gasped for air and windmilled backwards, face crimson, sputtering in outrage.

"What the  _fuck_ , what the hell, you just- why the  _hell_  did you just-"

Rochelle smirked.

"Nice try." She extended a hand and looked Nick square in the eye. His expression flickered, then broke into exasperated defeat. With a grimace he reached into his jacket and drew out two small green boxes.

"You're good. Too good," he muttered, turning away.

Rochelle scolded Nick six ways to Sunday and destroyed the contraband. The conman at least had the decency to look ashamed. Ellis begged Coach for water so he could rinse out his mouth.

"Please, Coach, it's  _gross_ , it's like lickin' an ashtray, didn't you  _see?_  He  _kissed_  me! It's...  _Eugh_!"

Coach shook his head slowly. "No can do. I feel you, son, but this water's for drinkin' only." He rubbed his forehead in exasperation as the unfortunate young man spat repeatedly instead. "Can we  _please_  get movin' now?"

A few relatively quiet miles later, Rochelle's wicked satisfaction faded. Nick was looking mischievous again.

"Hey, Ellis."

"Don't you talk to me."

"Why not?"

"I said, don't talk to me. I had enough a' yer mouth for one day."

"Aw, but I thought you liked it. I  _did_  feel you grab my ass..."

"I done  _WHAT_!"

"Once and for all, huh?" muttered Coach. Rochelle closed her eyes in despair.

"Your turn, then," she groaned. "Go break 'em up."

"Well, now  _I'm_  havin' fun. Watch."

They stood in the road and looked on as Nick, laughing, nimbly dodged furious swings of Ellis' baseball bat.

It  _was_  pretty funny.

* * *

**Traces**

Have you ever looked really close at a bandage? One sheet of gauze is so thin, and the weave is so loose, you can tear it with your hands. It's funny, really, how we rely on it to hold in our lives. So often it's the only thing keeping our blood from spilling on the ground that we don't think about it anymore. Other times I can't think about anything else.

Luck. She's always been my friend. Even now, even in the middle of a B-grade horror flick come to life, she's stuck by us. We'd never have made it this far without her. First aid kits and gauze are fine for scrapes, even a deep gash or two, but if any one of us took a real wound we'd never survive the night. That line between cut and coffin gets thinner and thinner the longer we're out here. I don't know yet if he's crossed it.

In each layer the threads are regular, crossing back and forth like city streets. Add another, they're hard to tell apart. Keep going, they become a maze miles deep. It's a labyrinth we build so our blood can't escape. But sometimes it does, and floods that city with red. Slowly. Like watching a rose bloom in the rain.

One thread at a time goes dark. Each wicks up enough to send tiny lines of color ahead of the tide, running before the horde, tracing crazy patterns across the cloth. It doesn't matter how carefully I try to follow. It always catches on my rough finger, and pulls away like cotton candy. We trust his life to this?

I knew it couldn't last. The second I started to care, I knew it. Now look where it's got me. I don't even know who I am anymore. What happened? Why can't I get up, empty his pockets and walk away?

He's changed me. He got inside, broke every rule I ever lived by, took me and left me with... what? Everything I was is lying here, on the floor of a Mississippi truck stop, bleeding out bit by bit.

 

* * *

 

 

**A Good Start**

_FOUR..._

Times Square roared around them, counting down in imperfect unison as the gigantic crystal ball slowly impaled itself on the altar of the new year. Only one head in the crowd of thousands did not follow its stately sacrificial journey; Nick watched Ellis watching it, Southern body shivering in the bitter Northern cold.

_THREE..._

He gripped the arm of the still new-smelling coat and tugged, drawing those wide blue eyes away from the spectacle to fall, startled, on his own.

_TWO..._

He drew him close and stepped a careful few feet to the side, pushing through the crowd and the wall of noise alike until they stood directly in front of a waiting news camera. The techs were as enraptured as everyone else, and did not see them approach.

_ONE..._

He pulled off a glove to run his bare fingers down one shapely cheek, finding no sight so bewitching as that of Ellis' vibrant grin.

_HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!_

At the stroke of midnight the camera panned down, broadcasting their passionate kiss for the entire nation to see.

* * *

 

**Homework**

"Yo Ellis. What're you gonna want for dinner?" Nick called from the kitchen. Ellis had his head down over a pile of papers on the table, and took a moment to answer.

"Dunno... I ain't hungry yet."

"It's after six and you didn't have lunch. Pick something."

"Meh."

Nick rolled his eyes and finished drying dishes, putting them away with fastidious precision. He hated mess.

Their fridge was half-full of beer, and not many nutritious groceries remained. Some canned tuna lurked in the cupboard behind boxes of pasta and jars of tomato sauce, but they'd had spaghetti yesterday. He shut the door, aggravated, and made a list of things to get at the supermarket.

"Hey, Nick? Can you gimme a hand with this?"

Ellis waved his lover over with a pencil and indicated a problem on the sheet in front of him.

"It says I gotta find the maximum," he explained, pronouncing the term carefully. "This here's the function of  _x_."

"I know. Did you do derivatives on Friday?"

"Yeah, but I don't think I get it yet. Who knew ya needed so much math ta fix cars?" grumbled the young mechanic.

"I've told you, it's not that kind of mechanics. Engineering is more complicated. Now tell me what you learned in class."

Nick listened with incredible patience to Ellis' halting interpretation of limits, slopes, and exponents, then shushed him gently.

"That's all bullshit. Now tell me what a derivative  _is_."

"Um. It's an equation you get that tells ya how steep another one is?"

The older man kept from rubbing his building headache and forced himself not to snap. The kid really was trying.

"All right, close, but think of it this way. If you graph it, draw the function like this-" He indicated the figure associated with a different problem on the homework. "-you've got different slopes at different places, right? And then you can draw a graph of those slopes..."

He coaxed his partner through several interpretations of the concept, and it seemed like something was finally clicking. The aspiring engineer began finishing his sentences and writing down symbols as he spoke.

"Okay, now here's my favorite definition."

"What, you got another one?"

"Yep. I want to be  _your_  derivative, you know why?"

"Why?"

"So I can lie tangent to your curves." Nick smiled at the understanding in his student's face. "I picked that one up hitting on college girls in Cambridge. It never worked."

Ellis grinned, hooked his fingers in Nick's shirt collar and pulled his head down for a deep kiss. Suddenly the prolonged tutoring session was worth the migraine. Nick closed his eyes, caressed his partner's mouth with his tongue, and ran his fingers through the soft shaggy hair. Ellis made a tiny noise deep in his chest in response.

Nick checked himself before getting Ellis too excited. He disengaged, forcing himself to resist his student's pouting lips, and pointed firmly at the unfinished homework.

"You can do it now. Get it right and I'll teach you something new later," he promised with a wink.

Ellis bit his lip at that, wanting very much to pounce on the tall, wiry bastard and give him an anatomy lesson. Those sly green eyes were always enough to drive him mad.

Nick left for the store and added T-bone steak to the list. Kinky sex always made him hungry.

* * *

 

**Catch A Ride**

"God bless the USA," Rochelle breathed.

Okay, so the rotting corpses in the front seats made the whole car stink – no big deal, they barely noticed the smell anymore. All right, so the upholstery was a bloody mess – their clothes weren't exactly clean, either. The only thing that mattered was that this massive Hummer had a full tank, guns in the trunk and wheels more comfortable off-road than on it.

"Let's do it!" Coach declared. Nick enthusiastically pitched a body from the driver's side and got down to the business of grand theft auto. Mere seconds later he touched the wires together...

Nothing.

"Uhh, one sec." Ellis scurried to the hood, popped it and disappeared into the greasy tangle underneath.

"Why's he wear those coveralls if he's not going to use them?" Rochelle wondered aloud. Coach shrugged.

"At least he hasn't got 'em 'round his knees like some kids these days."

Rochelle snorted. "I'll try to stay off your lawn, grandpa."

"Damn straight, young'un."

They watched their teammates with amusement. Ellis would emerge from the engine and yell to Nick "how 'bout now?" The conman would try for a spark, shake his head and reply "nope!" which sent the mechanic back under the hood, cursing. The pattern repeated several times until his assistant's patience ran out.

"Can't you just  _fix_  the fucking thing?"

Up popped Ellis like an oily prairie dog.

"Dammit, Nick! I'm a mechanic, not a miracle worker! I can't find a damn thing wrong..."

"Boys?" Rochelle interrupted. They snapped to face her in comically perfect sync. "I have an idea. Come give me a hand."

She approached a nearby van with its passenger side stove in, and vainly tried to get the hood open. Ellis came to her rescue with a crowbar.

"What're ya doin', Ro'?"

She smiled as his weapon pried the jammed metal apart. "There."

Ellis' eyes went wide, and he laughed as he smacked himself on the head.

"Holy shit, Ro'! Yer a genius an' I'm an idiot. Lessee if this works!"

Swapping the batteries took some effort without the right tools, but in short order Nick touched the wires again and the vehicle's engine roared to life.

"Woohoo!" Ellis triumphantly slammed the hood down with a huge grin.

"Praise the Lord, we got ourselves some wheels!" Coach hugged the mechanic around the shoulders and slapped Nick's back as he ducked out from under the steering column.

"Oof," the conman huffed at the impact, but looked mightily pleased.

"We've only got the one tank of gas, fellas, so let's get out of here!" Rochelle reminded them.

"I'm drivin'," Coach declared firmly.

" _Shotgun!_ " Nick and Ellis looked at each other, startled, then made a mad dash for the passenger's seat, shoving and pushing as they went.

Rochelle cracked up, and carefully cradled her pump-action Remington as she climbed into the back.

* * *

**Nick's Bottom**

Twenty-first century New York City is, depending on your perspective, either the best or the worst place to pop out of a four-hundred-year time warp. Which it is depends largely on which direction you're coming from; travelers from the future tend to adjust much faster than travelers from the past. Young Will, however, was as lucky as a lad from the 1500s could get, and came screaming out of the time vortex smack dab in the middle of Gershwin Theater. In the prop room, in fact. Perched on a large and hideously ornate Victorian chamber-pot.

The first thing he noticed was not the chamber-pot, nor the rack of stage weapons against the far wall. The first thing he noticed was the pair of men in the middle of the room, half-undressed, very obviously  _not_  fighting over the headset crackling on the floor – not that Will had any idea of what a headset was. Not that he cared. Both of the men were fit and muscular and sweating and...  _beautiful._

Beautiful, and looking at him.

There was a very pregnant pause, which was not silent only by virtue of a cheering, not-so-distant audience.

The fairer, younger one scuttled backwards in shock, leaving the older man in black to wince violently and hastily yank up his pants.

"Whut in th'  _hell_...?"

"Who the fuck are you and how the fuck did you get in here?" the darker fellow demanded, in a strange accent as harsh as the other's was soft. Will blinked, a bit distracted by the southward flow of his blood and unable to muster his usually whip-fast wit.

"Ah, I... I beg your pardon, good sirs..." he stammered, grateful that at least his manners had survived the trip. And he must have taken a trip, because nary a minute ago he'd been at his favorite pub with a pint and a fresh-baked roll.

"Who th' hell are yew?" the younger one growled, wrestling with his ornate garments. Will blinked again, recognizing something familiar at last.

"William, sir... If I may?" he offered timidly, reaching for the red-and-gold fabric that hitherto was utterly failing to remain in place.

"Hey, yew... Yew new in wardrobe or somethin'? Ain't never seen yew before," the youth asked awkwardly as Will rapidly fastened his clothes.

"No, whoever he is, he's not supposed to be here," the older man snapped, grabbing the hissing device off the floor with a look that would stop the Queen's guard in their tracks. He settled it over his disheveled hair and growled into the microphone as he stalked - rather stiffly - out the door. "Security to storeroom D. Some nutcase got in off the street. One of you jackasses deal with it, willya?"

The time traveller tied a last knot and stared after him, unaware of his blush, mind thoroughly occupied with a mental image of the beast with two backs. That dark-haired man had looked positively ecstatic, "on the bottom" as it were, writhing with a pleasure that William desperately wished he could share...

"Uh," the remaining fellow coughed awkwardly, shuffling his feet. The intruder jumped.

"I... My word, I'm terribly sorry, sir... If thou wouldst be so kind as to direct me to Stratford-upon-Avon, I shall leave at once..!"

"Sorry, man, I gotta be onstage in three minutes," he said with a grimace. "Nick called fer somebody already, th' stagehands c'n help ya out."

"Nick? Would that be the name of thy, ah... lov-"

"Yeah, yeah, him," the actor interrupted, flushing to match his costume and rubbing uncomfortably at the back of his neck. "He's Nick, I'm Ellis, and I'd really 'preciate if ya didn't say nothin' 'bout this ta anybody. Like, ever. Okay?"

"Of course not, milord," William assured him with a small bow. "I too have secrets the like of thine, and I would reveal them to nary a soul!"

"Well... thanks." Ellis said, then gave him a curious look. "Waitaminit, yew tellin' me yer queer too? Uh, gay. Ya like men?" He clarified, as the modern use of the term seemed to have been lost on the stranger. At last Will perked up.

"Alas, 'tis a curse I bear most willingly," he confirmed with a flirty little smile. "Pardon my forwardness, milord Ellis, but thou'rt a man young William would glad be curs't for thrice over."

"Now ain't that somethin'," the actor said, tilting his head to the side in approval. He took a step forward, and suddenly the time traveller felt giddy as a lady-in-waiting. "When th' crew lets ya out, wait fer me by th' door," Ellis whispered roughly in his ear. "Nick's jus' grouchy 'cuz yew surprised him, but he'll come 'round. We like meetin' new friends in bed..."

And suddenly their lips were hot together, and William could taste Heaven's own ambrosia on the young man's tongue, and the room spun around him...

...

"Master William! Do wake up, the sun is well past the yardarm and ye simply  _must_  read what Robert Green has written about ye this time..."

Late afternoon light poured into his eyes, and the nagging voice of the tavern wench pierced his ears. She chattered as she cleaned the room he'd let at the inn – he must have passed out drunk last night, but he didn't remember a thing.

"Liza," he mumbled, rubbing at his face, "Zounds, girl, be silent! My head is split in twain."

"Pish, sir, ye did not listen when Martin told ye to stop with Brannigan's special ale," Liza scolded. "And the landlord would remind ye, rent was due a week past already. 'Tis a pain ye rightly deserve!"

She dropped some parchment on the table and flounced out of the room, much to Will's relief. He sat up in bed and stared out the window, looking out over the muddy streets where crowds swirled past each other in the late July sun. He'd been having such a nice fantasy, why did that dumb broad have to go and wake him..?

"Master  _William_! Christopher wants his money!"

"Faith, wench, be still!" he roared back through the door, and grudgingly got out of bed. The details of his imaginary liaison were already growing faint, though a few facets clung – a name here, a rousing image there. Alas... they were destined to fade away, mere ghosts left behind by his drunken midsummer night's dream.

* * *

 

**Intervention**

High school can be rough. I know it better'n most. Not that I ever had kids of my own, but a lotta my players use'ta ask me for advice, like a father. I've heard it all. Bad grades, trouble at home, bullyin', you name it. An' especially girls. A team fulla boys, ages fourteen to nineteen, has a whole lotta angst in it. They've asked me how'ta get a date, how'ta make a move, how 'ta deal with rejection or a breakup. My kids looked up t'me then, and I ain't real surprised that Ellis looks up t'me now. What  _is_  surprisin' is what he wants t'talk t'me about.

He's nervous. That's a warnin' flag 'cause most'a the time he's got two attitudes: determined, or... well,  _Ellis_. When any  _sane_  man oughta be nervous, that white boy is carefree like you never saw. But right now, locked up tight in some old bunker, he's even edgier than Nick.

"Boy, calm yo' ass down. We're safe here."

"Sorry, Coach."

He stops pacin' around like a caged animal an' plunks himself down in a corner.

"You feelin' right, honey?"

"Yeah, Ro, I'm fine."

Nick ain't sayin' anythin'. Just polishin' his weapons. Not sure if it's a blessin' that them two ain't at each other's throats anymore, 'cuz them refusin' t'speak t'each other is just as nerve-wrackin' fo' me. An' there's only so many times a man can sharpen an axe 'fore it starts lookin' real murderous. Ro gets it. She looks at me and she's worried. I talk in her ear.

"Baby girl, this ain't right. Can you handle the jackass?"

"Ugh. Only because if somebody doesn't talk to him he might go all  _American Psycho_  on us."

She goes over t'him an' I sit down next to Ellis. I don't like how he's fidgetin' with his pistol.

"Better put that down or it won't be zombies that kills us."

"Sorry, Coach."

"That's all you been sayin' t'day. ' _Sorry, Coach_.' What's on yo' mind?"

"Nuthin'."

"Boy, it ain't nuthin'. We gotta focus on survival out here, an' y'can't be like this when them monsters're comin' at us. Talk t'me."

Nuthin'. He's all clammed up. All right, I can do this. Just gotta be firm.

"We're a team, an' if we don't stick together we all lose. Tell me. What's goin' down wit'chu and Nick?"

He looks at me just like my kids used to. Same face, same eyes, all of it. He doesn't say anythin', but I know.

" _Oh_."

So that's it. He's got... a crush? On  _Nick_? There's so many things wrong wit' that, I can't even start. We're in one serious mess, fo' sho', and it'll make a man think some strange things, but...  _Sheee_ -it. I wish it was Rochelle talkin' to him, not me. I was raised by the Book, an' if what I think is happenin'... Lordy, it gives me an uncomfortableness. But I gotta stick by my own word an' do what I can to help him through. So I laugh.

"My God, son. Middle of the zombie apocalypse, an' you got a heartache? Ellis, you are too much."

He looks at me like he's gonna cry, but finally says somethin'.

"It's stupid, ain't it. Ain't right. If Keith could see me actin' all dumb like this he'd be whackin' me with a wrench, sure 'nuff."

"It's been hard on  _all_  of us. You ain't stupid, you just got a diff'rent way of bein' stressed out."

"Really, Coach? You ain't jes' thinkin' how gross an' sinful havin'... uh... Jeez. Havin' a  _crush_  on another dude is? 'Cuz it's creepin'  _me_  out, an' yer the one quotin' scripture often as not."

"Don't matter what I'm thinkin'. I can handle myself.  _Yo_ ' ass is gonna end up hunter food if you can't gitchore head outta this, one way or the other."

He's starin' across the room now. The tunnel's long enough that we can't hear what they're sayin' at the other end, but we can see 'em. Nick's got his back to us. Ro's listenin', way too patiently. I can tell she wants t'scream.

"One way or the other... Lissen, I ain't too happy with m'self 'bout this. Dunno how I got here... I jes' thought he was cool, at first, an' he's gotta have some awesome stories, like, 'bout Vegas and stuff? An' it's no good tryin' ta keep me from askin' 'cause that jes' makes me wanna know more..."

"Secrets are the most int'restin' thing in the world."

"Yeah. Guess I got a lil'  _too_  interested. Dunno what I'm thinkin' anymore. Jes' want 'im ta quit treatin' me like dirt, really."

He's got his arms 'round his knees, lookin' out from under his hat.

"It's more'n that, son, but let's start wit' it. Unless you two've been stayin' up late talkin' when I can't hear, you ain't said word  _one_  t'Nick about this. Not seriously. Can't have a serious discussion out there fightin' zombies."

"He ain't exactly th' heart-ta-heart type anyhow."

"Well he better change real quick, if we're all gonna stick t'gether. This here's an intervention. So. Yo' gonna talk t'Nick. What'chu gonna say?"

"I dunno."

"Course you do. You just don't wanna admit it."

Now he's glarin' at me, but he's red in th' face and it ain't 'cause he's angry.

"What'm I s'posed ta do, Coach? Jus' walk up an' say 'Oh hey Nick, can ya treat me like a human bein' fer once, an' also ya mean more t'me than my own life?' Yeah, that'll work real good."

"Ellis, you been a kid once. Hell, you still act like it! D'you remember how  _you_  were back then, if you liked someone? You'd treat that girl awful. You'd tease her an' push her around 'cause you didn't know how else t'get her attention. Am I right?"

He's lookin' more and more like he's startin' t'get it. He nods.

"Well, Nick's never got over that. He ain't used to havin' feelin's at all, is my guess, an' you scare him. Now if I'm right, we gotta get him to talk. An' I think I got an idea."

I stand up, leavin' Ellis starin' at me like I'm a ghost or some shit. Ro sees me an' we meet in the middle.

"Poor Ellis. He's lovesick, all right, but won't admit how much. I told him they need to talk."

"Coach, that man is impossible. I did my best, but he won't listen to me. He's terrified – that's obvious, or he wouldn't be so defensive... But I can't figure out what he's so terrified  _of_."

"Baby girl, he's got the bug too. Those boys gotta get over each other. An' I think I know how'ta force 'em into tryin'."

I raise my voice. "All right, you two, gitchore asses over here  _now_."

Ellis moves. Nick doesn't.

"Nick, I swear t' _God_ , I will pick yo' scrawny ass up an' lock you outside if you don't c'mere this  _minute._ "

He waits for two more seconds 'fore gettin' up. He's still sulkin' like an angsty teenager.

"What."

"Don't gimme that look. I know what's up and I don't care 'bout yo' manly pride, Nick, so get. Over. It."

I move to the other room, the one we ain't been in 'cuz it's got no light, an' Ro follows. The boys can't go anywhere, 'less they wanna chance it outside.

"Now lissen up. Ro an' me, we gonna wait over here. We ain't gonna listen, but if y'all ain't huggin' it out when we come back, I'mma tie Nick up an' leave him behind in the mornin'. Actin' like brats is gonna get us all killed, y'hear me?"

"Like hell."

"Shut'chore mouth, white boy. Think I won't do it? You been nothin' but a pain in my ass since the goddamn start. I dunno who in the hell you think you were Before, and I don't rightly care, but it's  _past_  time you found someone else t'be. Now I know you don't wanna get left for zombie bait, and Ellis, I know you don't want him t' _get_  left. There, y'all got somethin' in common. Now  _get to it_!"

I ain't kiddin', neither. I'd string that sonofabitch up fo' the smokers t'play with an' not think too hard 'bout it later. But Ellis deserves a shot at changin' his mind, so I jus' turn right around an' give 'em their privacy. Ro follows me – bless her soul, she trusts me. More'n I trust my own self, at this point. I'm kinda expectin' t'hear gunshots.

"I hope this works, Coach."

She fidgets with her gun 'til the flashlight comes on. I just find a corner t'lie down in, an' shut my eyes.

"So do I, little sister. So do I."

* * *

 

**Inspiration**

Chaos erupted in the days that followed the Outbreak. Even the most level-headed of people became manic, wild-eyed animals once the infection began to spread; riots tore through cities, friends turned on each other, and anarchy reigned as the country dissolved into a single desperate flight towards unsure safety.

On the grounds of the Chatham Steel factory, just across from the historic Savannah Parkway, sat a small security building. When CEDA first took it over, it was full of coffee mugs and girly mags and ashtrays. Six hours later the concrete walls were bare, the corners piled high with first aid and half the floor padded by the cheapest mattresses ever to roll off the line. Over the course of a week it saw dozens of refugees, terrified and confused, who passed through on their way to evacuation. Some stayed the night; others left after barely an hour under its protective iron roof.

The first groups still retained some semblance of order, a self-assurance that they'd be met and rescued soon. They didn't take anything. Some even donated supplies of their own, confident that they wouldn't be needing such things for much longer.

Then the situation began to deteriorate. The army was called in. Survivors who'd seen the walking dead, who'd fought them, stockpiled weapons and ammunition for the ones still on their way. Shotguns, rifles scavenged from decimated battalions, the last remaining inventory of myriad sporting shops – people left them, people claimed them, but a respectable armory took up residence in the newly reinforced saferoom.

It stood like a fortress as survivors came and went.

_\-----_

_R.I.P. Janice Walker, wife, mother and friend._

Black on grey, the simple inscription triggered a heartfelt flood of messages from the front. Tributes to the fallen spread across the wall until the only Sharpie ran out of ink. Then someone brought more, and the writing blossomed like blood on a rain-slick sidewalk.

_We'll miss you, dad._

_Mark – catch up at the border – Tom+Susan_

_not_ _a flu!_

_CEDA left, ur on ur own_

_HELL IS HERE_

As the days passed in violence the words became bleaker. Grimmer. Dark tidings became black humor as the saferoom's occupants slowly found new ways to cope with their plight.

Until one day, a few ragged survivors limped in from the rain to rest their weary bodies for a spell.

A girl, exhausted but unable to sleep, spun a blue marker through her dirty, bandaged fingers. A small patch of smooth concrete beside her head bore no graffiti yet. It was empty. Inviting. It waited patiently for the girl to make up her mind, waited for the ink to drag hopelessly across its surface like it had so many times before. It didn't see the cap come off the pen, or feel the gently brushing strokes of its cool tip. But the wall knew, insofar as knowing was possible, that something had changed.

Subtly hidden down by the floor, the message was overlooked by the increasingly rare groups that staggered forlornly across the city. So much had changed in the space of a week that the saferoom's tenants could hardly be distinguished from the disease-ridden monsters they sought to avoid. They were gaunt, filthy, disturbed. They had no will, no direction, and kept going only because there was nothing else in the world they could do.

Through it all, the girl's words lurked quietly, unnoticed, above the mattress.

\-----

But the very last still had a spark. Facing impossible odds, stranded and left for dead, four living, breathing people took refuge in the room for the night. They didn't trust each other yet. None dared show uncertainty for fear of bringing them all down. But when night fell, so did their pretense.

The hazy darkness enveloped them, and their faces lost a certain determined edge. Arrayed along the walls, curled up with their backs to each other, they lay awake and wondered if this really was the end.

Gradually the shadows allowed shades of murky grey to reach their eyes. The youngest blinked – once, twice – until through the gloom he could read the words deliberately traced out in front of his nose. He lifted one calloused hand and followed the letters with a finger, at first not quite comprehending their meaning. They were out of place, a bright speck of light when everything else was spiraling into the abyss; but slowly, gradually, they found their way inside. When they finally took root he blinked once more, this time in understanding; then his tired eyes smiled, and he fell into a restful sleep.

In the morning they took what they needed and moved on. The words on the wall traveled with them, kept their spirits up and their team together through hell and high water. They grew to like each other, and trust each other, and – in certain small, intense ways – love each other. That tiny spark stayed strong in utter defiance of the apocalypse, burning back the cold and hopeless night; and everywhere they paused the youngest would find a bit of space, to leave their inspiration behind for anyone who might someday follow.

\-----

The safehouse stood alone as the world crumbled to ash. It was years – decades – before another truly living soul set foot inside. But when the vanguard of a new generation let sunlight flood the room at last, and the shock of its contents had begun to wear off, a young woman took to reading the raw mosaic laid out on the walls – the horror of history, plastered up for all to see. She felt her heart ache at the truth of it, and wondered how, even so long After, her world could ever recover. Then her eyes fell on a tiny scribble of blue, close to the floor by a desiccated pile of dust.

She smiled, tugged her heavy leather gloves more comfortably on her hands, and let the work of healing begin.

 

 


End file.
